


Only Lonely

by Klayr_de_Gall



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Bat Family, Bruce Has Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Idiots in Love, Language of Flowers, M/M, Protective Bat-Siblings, Secret Identity, Trust Issues, a lot of flowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-03-26 06:02:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13851606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klayr_de_Gall/pseuds/Klayr_de_Gall
Summary: The Flower shop-AU nobody asked for.orClark sells flowers to make the world a better place and attracts some bets in the progress.





	1. Sunsets for somebody else

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I'm new to the DC-Fandom and this Pairing. Like **_really_** new. I stumbled upon a picture on Pinterest and because I was bored, went to investigate. Needless to say that I did fall really fucking hard.  
>  My usual Playground is Marvel and I have actually no idea what I am doing here at all. Most of my knowledge is gathered from other FFs. Especially about the Bat-Family. So I apologize if I mess anything up too bad. But hey, that's what AU's are for, right?
> 
> Gifting that fic to **Haining-art** because it was one of her stunning Drawings that got me into that mess.
> 
> Sadly unbetaed. English is not my native language. Please let me know if you find any upsetting mistakes.
> 
> [b]Warning: Idiots! Flirty Bruce[/b]

It was one of the usual slow mornings. Some of the gray fog that always gathered in Gotham's streets curled lazily through the open front door of the shop, licking against the first colorful display of flowers, while Clark rolled it outside his little shop.

Opening a flower-shop had always been a dream Jonathan Kent used to joke about whenever he was in a good mood, even while knowing that there was no way he would ever persuade it. Clark remembered how he had loved to listen to his father talk about the decorations he would put up, witch flowers he would set out on display and what each of them would mean. He can still picture his mothers adoring smile, whenever her husband brought back a handful of red roses from Smallville on Market-days. And how her smile never recovered fully after his father wasn't able to bring her roses anymore. Now Martha was the one bringing flowers to him. Five white lilies laid on his tombstone every Sunday.

“Hey, Smallville! You're still asleep?”

Clark startled slightly and looked up from the arrangement of summer-flowers, smiled sheepishly at Lois. The beautiful reporter sighted and shook her head at him.

“Daydreaming?”

“A... bit. Sorry, Lois. I dreamed about Ma and Pa last night. Well... You know.”

She patted his hand because indeed she did know. There had been together for two years and friends before and after breaking it off, so she recognized the wistful moods he got into whenever had had one of that dreams about his home and family.

“When was the last time you went home? Your mother would love to have you over. You know that you can take a break from time to time, Clark. You won't go out of business just because you are in Kansas for a few days. It won't make any difference.”

“Lois...

But Clark did know that she would just talk over him and didn't put up too much of a fight. They had had that argument often enough to just blend Lois' words out and instead opening his senses to the City around him, never asleep but finally waking up for the day, while he arranged the display of his shop for the begin of the day. He had known from the start that Gotham wasn't the ideal environment to open up a flower-shop in. Clark had waited long enough to snag up a little hole-in-the-wall shop in a somewhat not so shadowed alley when the former owner gave up hosting his kiosk there. _Smallville Flowers – Kent and Son_ was located in an area just shy from the better districts of Gotham, but that didn't mean people had more use for flowers here then they would have in the docks.

“You should stop that little experiment, Clark. The position at the Daily Planet will just be open for that long. Perry is breathing down my neck to fill it with someone else if you keep refusing.”

That argument wasn't new as well.

“Lois. You know I can't.” 

“How long do you want to do that? I see you struggle to hold everything together by the end of every week. Without the freelancing work you do as a reporter, you would be deep in debt by now, Clark. Being- you know... heroic, doesn't actually fill your pockets.”

He had to look away, couldn't stand the concern shining from her warm brown eyes. Every time they met since he had opened the shop – either meeting in Gotham or Metropolis, either in the night or the day – she had the same expression on her face. While protecting Metropolis around the clock, leaving the shop unattended for times whenever his hearing picked up some trouble in his beloved city, this was the only way Clark felt able to help the people in Gotham somehow. At least without getting snarled at by the Bat, or like at one memorable occasion, shot in the chest by a grappling hook. Stopping some patty day-time-crimes might not be much, but at least it was something. And brightening up at least one of the grim, shadowy streets with flowers had to count for something, too. Clark just wished Lois would understand his motives.

“Did you just stop by because you wanted to tell me again how bad I am at keeping my finances together? Not that I'm not happy to get fretted at, Lois... but what brings you to Gotham actually?”

Lois swatted his arm but accepted the change of subject. Clark loved her a lot for that.

“For spending one-third of your days as a reporter, you really don't have a clue.”

Okay, he had to think about the Love thing.

“There is some evening-filling gala later Perry want's me to cover. “

“Really? He sends his best reporter to write an article about an high-society event? What did you do, Lois?”

The brunet woman did shoot him an annoyed look and Clark earned another swat to his upper arm.

“I might have or have not spilled hot coffee all over him. But it's not your business, Kansas.”

Clark had to smother a laugh at that. He could see it in his imagination and he was sure Perry White had deserved every scolding drop of the beverage. The man was an eccentric at the best of days

“If that isn't Lois Lane. Gotham can be surprisingly small.”

They both turn to the newcomer's silky voice. The bell had not chummed to tell of his arrival because the front door was still open to let in the morning air and the few rays of sunshine that found their way down to the bottom of the narrow street. One of the beams hit the man standing in the opening of the shop just right, like a stage light. It did cast his hair in a golden glow, highlighting his sharp cheekbones. Clark would have snickered about the dramatics of that entrance, would he not have been rendered speechless by the aristocratic beauty of the man.

Lucky for him, Lois masked his gawking with springing to action.

“Bruce Wayne in person? What a surprise!”

She approached him and the raven-haired man stepped out of the light and into the murky shadows of the shop to kiss both her cheeks in greeting. Not even Lois could resist so much charm and blushed slightly, a girly giggle escaping her.

“A delightful surprise, I have to say.” His Smile was handsome, with a hint of mirth curling the corners of his lips upwards.

Without the Sunlight casting him in shadows, the man seemed somewhat more real to Clark, and he finally recognized him by himself, drawing the connections between the person in his flower-shop – perfectly groomed and in a suit that did probably cost more then the whole building – and the face staring down from half a dozen magazines in every newspaper stand at every day of the week.

“Bruce Wayne.”

Clark had not been aware that his mouth had run away with him and that he had said the name aloud with disbelieve, but then the blue eyes turned on him. There was a startling sharpness in them for a fracture of a second, before it gave away to s pleased sparkle. It happened so fast, Clark wasn't sure he hadn't just imagined things.

“Miss Lane, I'm dying for you to introduce me to your friend.”

Wayne's eyes travel up and down his body with interest. Shrinking a bit under that intense stare wasn't as much an act as it was out of embarrassment.

“That's Clark. Clark Kent.” Lois introduces him while looking at them both with a barely contained long-suffering sigh. It was most certainly not the first time she had witnessed the famous Wayne-charm do its magic.

“Y-yes, Clark Kent. Nice to meet you.”

Before he could raise his hand for a handshake he wasn't even sure was appropriated, Wayne's next question did catch him by surprise.

“The father or the Son?”

“What?” That thousand megawatt-smile turned into a small frown while Bruce Wayne arched one of his perfectly groomed eyebrows and did look pointedly at his chest. Clark had to crane his neck to look down at the green apron he was currently wearing, that had the shops name printed across the top. “Oh. I'm the son.”

“Good.” The blinding smile returned. “And not having any sons?”

“Not... yet?”

Clark could feel Lois face-palming behind him, but he could not concentrate on that. Not when Mr. Wayne took a step forward, right into his personal space and put a hand on his biceps.

“Well, Handsome. As interesting as it would be to explore that question, I'm here for business.”

The man's voice had dropped into a low purr. It should sound ridicules, but all it did was making Clark's ears feel hot.

“O-okay. You need flowers?”

Wayne's eyebrow arched up again. The gesture actually looked really patty, now that the first shock about his beautiful features began to dull somehow.

“I can think of a lot of things I could need from you.” Another brush of long fingers against his arm before his hand dropped away - “But I was hoping for flowers, yes.”

The hand reappeared in front of Clark's face, holding up a phone, so he could take a good look at the screen. It showed a picture of a blonde, long-legged beauty, her stunning but bored face somewhat ringing a bell of recognition in Clark. She looks like she could be a known model.

“The Waynette of the night?”, Lois peeped up. Bruce winked at her.

“Exactly. I was told she will be wearing dark blue to the gala tonight and that the flowers she expects from me have to match that.”

With a slow nod, Clark looked at the picture again, already going through the flowers he had in stock. Red would go really well with blue – he should know – but that choice of color might send a message that Gotham's most famous playboy probably rather not would send. Better going for yellow and orange then.

“Mh. I can do that. Something specific you have in mind, Mr. Wayne?”

“I was thinking: big enough that she needs both hands to carry it, so she can't feel me up too much.” 

Wayne had to laugh at his own joke as if it was the most brilliant thing he had ever heard but thinking about the meaning behind it made Clark really uncomfortable. That this handsome man was as much arm-candy to whatever Starlet was with him for the night, as she was for him.

“And call me Bruce. Mr. Wayne is my father, _Mr. Kent_ ”

Clark flushed bright red, flustered be the suggestive tone of the purring warm voice.

“C-Clark is fine.”

He had to fight really hard not to rise to his full high as an answer to the flirtatious smile directed his way, instead shyly smiling back and righting his glasses a little. This man probably could have his charm weaponized. Maybe he already had, the way he had no problem with making Clark blush. He was a grown man – by Rao – he should be able to deal with a playboy like that, beautiful blue eyes or not.

To get his act together and regain at least a fraction of his dignity and professionalism, Clark did shuffle away to get a bouquet of flowers ready. He could hear Lois making small-talk with the billionaire while he was in the backroom, picking out what he hoped was a satisfying display both in colors as in size.

In the end, he went for pink Myrtle and nearly his whole stock of white and yellow Freesias and arranged them nicely with a lot of greens. He made it as big as possible without losing his grip on the stems, binding them tight. With some lite yellow paper draped around the composition, it looked positively hug without being too much and Clark took a moment to admire his work.

But it was not him who had do approve if it, so he carried the flowers back into the main area, interrupting Lois and Bruce in their discussion about golf. He didn't miss how both of them seemed relieved to finally be able to end that conversation.

Wayne regarded the bouquet with a slight frown, his eyes sharp and his lips not smiling for a moment. The transformation was so shocking, Clark nearly dropped the flowers. When the dazzling smile did come back online a second later, he felt his head swimming with that whip-lash change of emotions. This time he was sure it had not just been his imagination.

“Really, Clark? _“Innocence”_ and _“Good Luck”_? Didn't you have anything more _“Let's fuck all night”_ back there in your secret chamber?”

“What?”

How was anyone able to catch up with this man? 

“The flowers, _Mr. Kent_ ”

Thanks Rao for the flowers he was still holding, that put some distance between him and Bruce, who had stepped up close again, plucking the arrangement from Clark's hands with a light brush of his fingers that had no right to feel so sensual for such little contact.

“I take them, but next time try to make it a bit less Sweet-Prom-Date, please.”

“I... yes.”

Still to baffled by the revelation that the other man did know the actual meaning of the flowers, Clark only could stand dumbly in the middle of his shop while he was handed a hundred dollar bill and granded a downright filthy wink, and then Bruce Wayne was gone, only traces of his aftershave hanging in the sweet air.

The slamming of a door outside did startle Clark in action, but the car was already speeding away before he could so much as step out of the shop to object against the money.

“Clark? Snap out of it. Don't tell me his charm did actually work on you? Please?” Lois sighed. “I know he has a handsome face, but he's as dumb as they can get. Sometimes I'm surprised he remembers having a company at all. And not just one-night-stands to take care of.”

“Isn't that a bit cruel, Lois?”

Lois shrugged her shoulders, unforgiving.

“Try having one interview with him and then actually saying something nicer about him. Believe me, there are way sharper knives in the drawer.”

“He did know what the flowers meant.” Clark felt he had to speak up in Wayne's behalves. Yes, he did know what people said about “The Prince of Gotham” but he had the nagging feeling that there was more to Bruce Wayne then he did let show. It was like an itch under his fingernails. The sharp looks, the calculated flirting when he realized that he said to much...

“And?” With a frown, Lois crossed her arms, not at all convinced by him. And Clark couldn't resist adding the last point.

“Did you know them?”

He was not surprised when she flipped him off and stomped out of the shop. He would have to apologize to her later for putting her Pulitzer-price winning intelligence against Wayne's Playboy attics, but for now, he couldn't feel sorry for it.

Turning to water the flower-pots, Clark super-hearing picked up a scream for help three alleys over.

So much for his slow morning.


	2. Late for the sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day, Clark finds a Bat in the Trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! You are amazing! Thank you so much for all the feedback, all the comments, kudos, subscriptions, and hits! I didn't expect that much feedback on my silly little idea. But I have so much fun writing Clark and Bruce! Who would have guessed? XD
> 
> Still, took a while to write this chapter, because real life hit me like a train. Hopefully, it will progress a bit faster from now on.
> 
> The story is planed out by now, but if there is anything you would love to read, come and tell me!
> 
>  
> 
> **Warnings: Unbetaed. Bit of Blood. Batman being Batman. Canon-typical violence.**

The usual slow Business picked up at _Smallville Flowers_ the next day. At first, Clark did not think anything about it. A pretty woman in a way to expensive office costume walked in barely minutes after opening-time, without saying _Hello_ , nor casting a look or a smile in his direction, wanting thirty yellow roses, then leaving without as much as an _Good Bye_. Such high-end customers didn't happen often, but it was nothing to wonder about. Clark was still unsuspecting when a gray-haired, polite man orders five bouquets of pink lilies, then drove off in a black Bentley shortly past ten.

But it got slightly upsetting after the sixth wealthy-looking costumer walked out of his shop with his last bunch of Hydrangeas, her shining black high heels clicking on the street outside, while she did stride to her red and shiny Jaguar. It was barely three in the evening and he had made more sells today then he had made in a given week. Ever. Since opening the shop.

“How is it going, Clark? You look kinda spooked.”

Kara walked in, smile slightly sparkling. His cousin was as bad at lying and hiding secrets as he was, so it only took Clark to blink out of his reflections on this busy day to notice her cheeky grin.

“And you are not surprised about that. What's going on?”

“I don't know what you mean. Really, I don't.”

The blonde woman beams, even more, knowing, making him grown. Whatever Kara know that he didn't, he would have to bribe her for that.

“Come one... playing dump isn't a good look for you.”

She just smiles even broader, tapping her finger against her cheek.

“... Alright. I have a slice of apple pie upstairs. You can have it if you spill.”

“Hell yes!”

Clark has barely time to blink before Kara did dash by him, way to fast for a human – he had to scold her for that recklessness later, thanks, Rao there was no one in the shop right now – and run to the stairs in the backroom, that let to the little-adjoined apartment on the floor above the Flower-shop. He still had the flat in Metropolis where he spends most of his nights, but the two-room apartment was a good cover and also cozy if a bit run down.

Shaking his head fondly at his younger relative, Clark noticed the _Gotham Gazette_ she had left on the counter. On the front was a photo of Gotham's favorite Playboy, arm in arm with an annoyed looking, but beautiful woman. _The Waynette of the Night_ , as Lois had put it. The model carried the enormous flower bouquet Clark had arranged last night. While the overly big arrangement had looked stunning on Bruce, it looked downright clownish on the petite lady. Even more so because the Supermodel had to hold them with both hands on hip-level, to be able to still show off her deep cleavage. _”Having both hands occupied.”_ indeed.

But even with the colorful bunch of summer-flowers in her arms, the woman looked pale compared to Bruce Wayne. He was wearing a black three-piece suit, tie artfully undone – revealing a bruise on his throat that looked really close to a hickey - hair combed back and casting a one-million-dollar smile at the camera. Seeing him like that, it was easy to forget the calculating, sharp looks Clark had witnessed yesterday.

_WHERE THE RICH AND BEAUTIFUL GET THEIR FLOWERS_

The Magazine Detail in aggressive bolt letters was printed halfway over Wayne's hip. Clark had to tap down the urge to bash his head against the wall.

“By Rao...”, was all he muttered silently but could hear Kara laugh loudly one floor up. Damn her and her super-hearing.

-  
-

“What are we waiting for, boss? It's past meeting point. Where's their handler?”

“Shatup!”

A nervous rustle. “It's a trap. We should be outa here by now!”

“They'll see what the get for setting a trap.” A magazine clicking into a machine gun.

Clark exhales slowly while trying to blend better into the shadows.

Shortly after closing the shop for the night, he had picked up on a drug deal going down in crime Ally. Clark had had just sat down to formulate an E-Mail to his supplier, practically needing a whole new delivery of flowers worth his shop, because there wasn't much left that hadn't been cleared out by Gotham's elite. He was slightly disappointed that Bruce Wayne himself hadn't shown up among all that people, but why should he. And why should Clark be disappointed by that?

When his super-hearing had picked up the all too familiar and deep snarl that was Batman's voice questioning some poor criminal about the drop-point for a big drug deal it had been a welcome distraction .

Clark can't remember he made the decision to investigate, but now Superman is standing at the edge of a rooftop – badly hidden from view between the ever-present Gargoyles. He scans the terrain for people while listening for voices and heartbeats. The area is practically crowded, two large groups of criminals occupying the first floors of the buildings opposite from each other. There is a large package with the group to his right that he suspects to be the drugs. But what's of real concern to Clark are all the weapons he can sense, safeties clicked off. Both groups are out for blood, he can practically smell it.

“You should not _be_ here.”

The Gargoyle a few feet besides him– that Clark would _**swear**_ had been out of stone mare seconds ago - comes to live gracefully, with a low whisper of a long black cape and a gravel voice that fills the night as Batman uncurls from a crouch. Superman nearly jumps from the building in shock. Only the Bats pointed look at his feed made Clark realize that he had taken a step back out of surprise into thine air beside the building, now hovering.

“Batman.”

It's a small mercy his voice is composed and collected. Clark touches down on the roof again, still trying to calm his heartbeat to a normal rate. He had known that Gotham's vigilant was something else, had gotten a taste of it on their former run-ins, but leave it to Batman to be the only person able to sneak up to an otherworldly-powered alien with super-senses.

“What are you doing in my city?”

Business as usual, white-lensed eyes never leaving the buildings beneath them, Batman's form is unmoving as stone. The man is only human, Clark reminds himself. Flash and bone enforced with Kevlar, annoying bullheadedness and a near dangerous loyalty to Gotham.

“I was...” Superman trails off, aware that he had no good reason to give. He and the Batman had some unwritten rules, and while living in Gotham as a civilian might tick the Bat of should he ever discover that, snooping around and interfering as Superman was crossing a big line.

Only a minimal head-tilt tells Clark that Batman is looking at him now out of his peripheral vision without fully losing concentration on the scene on the street. There is tightness in his broad shoulders and an annoyed frown pulling the corner of his mouth down, so Clark decides to better be honest. At least it might do some damage control.

“I was in the neighborhood and picked up talk about a drug deal. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have come but -”

“You shouldn't have.”

Batman grabs something from his belt and flings himself from the building, leaving Clark standing there, dumbfounded. The first horrified scream echoes through the street, not a second after.

-  
-

Gotham's thick air sits heavy in Clark's lungs while he walks home slowly, ducking thought shadowed alleys and trying to stay out of trouble. The well-worn jeans and his faded flannel shirt he had changed into making it easier not to be seen then Superman's get-up would have. He usually isn't that paranoid, but tonight Clark is glad he has a few clots hidden among Gotham's rooftops. After a direct confrontation with a pissed Batman, it wouldn't be wise to be reckless. He didn't need to lead the vigilant back to the flower-shop.

A tiny woman hurries by him, her purse securely hitched up under her arm. When Clark gives her a reassuring smile, she only narrows her eyes in suspicion and walks a bit faster. His hearing follows the click-click of her heels through the streets till she stops and turns a key, safely at home. There is a group of kids sitting on stairs in front of a rundown building, out past survey, listening to music on a tiny mp3 player. At the corner in front of him, a cat scares a dealer and a drug-addict apart, both men fleeing from the street. A weathered Police officer shares his coffee with a homeless old man beside a kiosk with days old newspapers taped above the holes in the glass window.

The city smells of grim and garbage, layered with something heavy, like ash. Clark can never decide what to feel when he walks the streets, that have crime written all over, drug-dealers and thugs at every corner. Windows looked shut to stop anyone from breaking and entering. All the darkness and hopelessness should feel too heavy to bear, but among all the bad and ugly, people shoulder on with their lives, fighting to keep there heads up and their families fed. Gothamites are something else. While Clark walks and watches, a window opens and a bony grandpa sets a plate out on the fire-escape, a few cats rushing in to devour what's left of his late-night-dinner.

This are the moments when he can understand Batman's fierce protectiveness for his city. The loyalty and love that fueled his drive to be the man Gotham needed. To decide to _make_ himself into a symbol. Clark would never know what kind of person he himself would have been without his powers, but he knows it needs a really rare type of men to choose the life as a vigilant.

“Stop! _Help!_ ”

A high-pitched scream rips Clark from his thoughts. There is a robbery around the corner his senses hadn't picked up, way to occupied. Now he starts to run, reminding himself not to use super-speed in his civilian clots.

“Hey!”

Th robber rounds on him, a boy, barely twenty, face horrified. He clutches a gun in his hand, the woman's purse in the other, shaking slightly. Clark slows his steps, putting his hands in the air to show he isn't a treat.

“Hey... take the gun down, okay? How about you just handle back the-”

Sensing her chance, the middle-aged woman snatches her purse back from the distracted thief, startling the boy so much, he pulls the trigger.

Clark readies himself for a bullet to his chest, but it never comes, because a black shadow drops down in front of him and straightens, seemingly unfazed by the impact from the shot. The boy drops the gun as if the metal is scolding hot, turns and runs. The woman does the same.

Batman's cape licks around Clark's foot for a moment, before the man turns to him.

“That was stupid.”

He looks unhappy but otherwise unharmed from the gunshot.

“I- shi- are you okay, Batman?”

“Yes.”

The vigilant sends him an annoyed and tired look. Clark blinks and just now realizes that the white lenses are not in place, finding himself faced with sky-blue eyes instead, that blend into demonic black even under the cowl. Painted Skin. Batman's armor is scratched and the suit torn in a few placed, one gauntlet missing entirely. There is a little round dent, where the bullet had connected with the bat-symbol on his chest-plate. He notices that the Bat favors his right food, standing a bit stiffly. It's no wonder, after taking out two drug-dealing-cells at once early that night.

“But you look-”

“Long night. Go home. No one should be out on the streets that late. And no foreigner on top of that.”

It is fascinating how Batman manages to sound distant but far from as cold and unforgiving as whenever Clark's encounters him as his Alter-Ego. 

“Ehm. I'm from Gotham.”

A snort. “No Gothamite in his right mind would leave the house in flannel.”

Clark gaps at him openly. Was that... a joke? Maybe Batman had hit his head in the fight, without him noticing. He hadn't even known the Dark Knight had any sense of humor.

“Just go home.” Batman speaks again when he fails to produce a good comeback for the insult on his shirt. He is readying his grappling hook.

“Wait. You too.”

Both men stare at each other, and Clark gets the distant impression that Batman is rising an eyebrow under his cowl. Not many people might have the balls to tell the Batman to better go home and rest. But he stays silent. When it gets uncomfortable, Clark clears his throat with an awkward click.

“Thanks. For saving me.”

A short nod, then Batman is gone into the night. Nearly as if he had never been here. Clark would suspect that he had just hallucinated the last five minute, would he have not been able to track the silent Bat by his heartbeat till he is too far away and layered with to much other noise.

Holy Rao. What a night.

-  
-

Over the next days, Clark slowly get's used to having more customers, even if there are not as much as the first day after the article. It's great that a few of Gotham's Higher-Ups start to come back. Getting some regulars out of that mess was something. Whenever the door opens while the sun hit's the entrance just so, Clark catches himself looking, hoping for Bruce Wayne to step into his flower-shop. He want's to thank the _Prince of Gotham_ for what his probably thoughtless slip to the press had meant for his business. Or that was what Clark was telling himself. Sometimes he even believed it.

“I'm afraid some boy just did steal a sunflower from the display outside.”

Clark looks up at the young man who had just entered, briefly stopping in finishing the bouquet that he was binding for the mayor's wife. The costumer is in his twenty's, with delicate, stunning looks, black hair artfully tousled, sunglasses stuck into the neck of his expensive looking blue polo.

“Probably just Sean. Little, with a black cap?”

“Yeah.”

A little smile tugs on Clark lips.

“Thank you for telling me. But it is no big deal. I'm with you shortly, just have a look around.”, he says to the confused looking man and also nods at some elderly gentleman that had just entered.

“You are planning to get something for yourself, Master Richard?”, the older man asks, confirming Clark's suspicion that they might be here together.

“Probably. The flowers are stunning. Maybe to piss off Damian.”

“You must be aware that Master Damian will feed the flowers to the cow, sir.”

The younger man laughs while Clark finishes up the flowers and puts them into a bucket full of water. He drys his hands on his apron but is still taken by surprise, when the younger of his clients holds his hand out for a firm handshake. Gotham's most-wealthy can be a bit cold, so that is a welcome exception.

“Dick Grayson. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Grayson. Clark Kent.”

Dick Grayson snorts and grins at him in delight.

“God, no. Please, please call me Dick. _”Mr. Grayson”_ , good god. I get why Bruce can't shut up about you.”

While his companion looks mildly disappointed by that comment, Clark can only blink in confusion, before the pieces click with him. Richard Grayson – adopted son of Bruce Wayne – wasn't in the news quite as often, so he hadn't recognized the man.

“Well, that's... ehm.”

Dick chuckles and ducks his head.

“Please ignore Master Richard, Mister Kent. He enjoys it way to much to poke fun at others.” The older man shushes a laughing Dick away to look at the flowers before he turns his attention to Clark again. “I am Alfred. Master Bruce sends his Thanks for the work you put into the bouquet last time. As you might be aware it was a big hit with the ladies and the press.”

Clark nods in earnest and does his best not to look at the framed newspaper-side Kara had put up at the wall three days ago.

“He also asks for a new arrangement and told me I show you that and tell you the color of the dress will be golden with a bit of green.”

The man - who Clark suspects might be a Butler of some sort – holds up a phone with a photo. A photo of Lois. Clark blinks. Then he blinks again.

“Do you feel unwell, Mister Kent?”

“No. Sorry. I'm good.” He smiles reassuringly. “I was just not suspecting it to be someone I know.”

“You know Lois Lane?” Dick pops up at his side. “Oh, I think Bruce mentioned meeting her in your shop.”

“Yeah. She is a good friend of mine. I work alongside her on freelancing assignments for the Daily Planet sometimes.”

Dick and Alfred share a knowing look, something that looked like an approving smile crossing between them. Clark wonders if it would be a problem that he had somewhat of an open career-phat as a reporter. He was not the type to get profit out of his private life, but they couldn't know that. Or maybe they did already know and were happy he told it himself.

He cleared his troth.

“I know Lois well enough to assure you that the arrangement does not have to be so big that she has to hold it two-handed to not...” A blush flamed over his face. He had to call Lois about that “Date” with Wayne, even if he didn't doubt it was about work. She was probably pissed beyond belief that Perry had sent her to go to whatever Event she had to attend, knowing full well how much she disliked that kind of displays. “If it is okay, I would pick her favorites - Gladiolus. Bru – Mr. Wayne will score a few points for that.”

Alfred's smile was small but satisfied.

“Please do so, Mister Kent.”

-  
-

After having some meatloaf for Dinner, Clark is sweeping out the backroom of the shop. It's already dark outside, only shadows leaking into the shop through the open back door. The small alley behind the building is old and bearly big enough to fit a car and creepy in a way that makes the hair on his arms stand up. He can understand his neighbors who all have enforced looks at their backdoors.

In the four months since he had started to rent the place, some unlucky guy had tried to rob him three times behind the flower-shop, unaware of whom he was going up against. Clark sights to himself. He hadn't seen Leslie in a while now. Maybe the man had gotten into trouble and ended up in jail. Again.

The loud thunk-thunk-thunk of running footsteps echoes through the alley, but as Clark looks around, he can't see anyone coming in his direction. Switching to night-vision still shows no other person. But the next moment an shout and a gunshot echo down the alley from – Clark looks up sharply, just to see a body falling down the five store-building at the dead end of the small street, crashing into a dumpster.

He is there before his broom has hit the ground, apron flapping wildly from the super-speed. The body in the dumpster haves painfully, two, three times, before going slack, losing concussion. After a short moment of panic, Clark picks up on his pulse and his mangled breathing. Using X-ray, he discovers a fresh bullet stuck in his shoulder blade and a flash-wound at his tight. Clear shoot through. His arm seems to be fractured, probably from the fall.

“Shit. He's breathing?”

Clark doesn't flinch when Nightwing lands beside him, even if a normal civilian would have been frightened to hell. But there is a man slowly bleeding out into the trash, so the upholding of his cover is the last thing on his mind.

“Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

They both grab for the body at the same time, managing to lift him out of the garbage with minimum jostling. The guy looks young, his face covered in dirt. A stark white strand is running through the hair that's covering his closed eyes. Nightwing strips off a glove, putting his fingers to the man's neck, searching for a pulse. Clark has to clamp his mouth shut not to tell him that – yes, there is a heartbeat. He can hear it. _He can see his heart pumping_.

“What happened?”

Nightwing shacks his head while the tension in his shoulders abbs a bit. He does not let go of the pulse point.

“I only know someone was shooting at him. I tried to help but was to late – shit. I -”

He can't finish his sentence, because Clark hauls both the unconscious man and the babbling vigilant behind the dumpster, moments before the shooter appears at the edge of the roof, peering down into the back-ally.

“Is that the Red Hood?”, Clark whispers. The moonlight reflects off of the red Helmet while the Man looks around, searching for his pray. Nightwing's domino-masked eyes narrow to slits and he looks down to the wounded man, then up again.

“... Looks like it. I have to get him. He has never attacked civilians before.”

There is something hard in the young hero's voice, unmissable urgency. But he is still reluctant to leave the unconscious guy behind.

“Go. I get him a doctor. I promise.”

Nightwing's calculating look turns to him.

“Don't get him to a hospital. The Hood will look for him there. Call that number.”

He uses the dirt from the floor to paint a phone-number on Clark's apron before he straightens.

“I trust you with that.”, he says before Clark can assure him that he is trustworthy enough to look after the wounded. The hero flings himself up to the roof with a complicated move and a grappling line, landing beside a dark shadow that hadn't been there when the shooting had happened.

There is a short nod from Batman for Clark, a flap of his cape and both the vigilantes are gone.

In the silence of the night, alone in the empty alley, Clark sights with abdomen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wow, Never planed that chapter to run so long, gosh. And not much Bruce in it, sadly. But Batman needs some love, too! Hope you liked it anyway! More then happy to hear your opinion !  
> <3


	3. Turn the blue Sky on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superman never signed up too a Date with Bruce Wayne!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoho! New chapter didn't take me a month to finish. I'm proud. There is a lot more plot in this Fic then I originally planned, I'm still stunned about that. The current chapter-count just got up to seven and might even go higher! Let's see how much I want to torture you all with overly long chapters. XD
> 
> Sadly unbetaed. I'm doing my best to catch what I can, but English isn't my native language. If you spy something that's too upsetting to ignore, please tell me! Have fun reading!
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning: Blood. Talk about Prostitution.**

It had been an exhausting night. 

Clark had called the number, being met with a lot of skepticism. His guest had woken up while he had carried him up into the apartment, leaving a trail of blood behind on floor and counter. Even with half his blood on the carpet, the guy had an impressive Flight-or-Fight instinct and had been determined to leave. If it hadn't been for Clark's super-strange, he doubts he could have held the man long enough for help to get there.

The guy – Jason – had only calmed down when the stern doctor arrived, confirming Clark's story about Nightwing leaving him here to be cared for. The woman -that had never given her name - drugged her patient up, cut the bullet from his bleeding flesh and put him back together with a few well-placed stitches. Clark was a bit worried about internal bleeding, but the doctor brushed off his concerns. He gave in because he would sense if something would reopen under the stitched skin.

It had been way past four when he had finally managed to clean up the mess down in the shop, readying it for tomorrow morning. Getting at least a few hours of sleep seemed like the perfect idea. Clark's body didn't need near as much rest as a normal human, but after such an eventful night, he was glad to finally be able to close his eyes and shut out the world. With Jason deep asleep on the couch in the next room, he finally had drifted into sleep.

-  
-

“Is he okay?”

“What?”

Clark looked up in surprise, having recognized the voice. The shop had opened five minutes ago, and he hadn't expected Dick Grayson to stomp into _Smallville Flowers_ while he was drinking his first coffee of the day. The younger man's hair looks unkempt. And was he wearing a piyama-shirt?

Dick was practically vibrating with tension. “Jason. Is he okay?”

Bruce followed his adopted son into the dimness of the shop.

“We heard from a friend that he was involved in some crime. And that he was last seen in your Shop.”

The man looked beautiful as ever, but not as put together as Gotham knows him. Only small things, like a cufflink not done or the black silk-tie in his breast pocket rather than around his neck. For everyone that cared to look, it had _“Just-left-the-house-in-a-hurry”_ written all over.

“Clark?”

Clark blinked, embarrassingly aware that he had been staring too long without answering to their concerns.

“Sorry. I was just...” He rubed at his neck. “You know him? He is okay. Half an hour ago he was still asleep on my couch.”

He can sense that Jason is awake by now, but hadn't made any attempt to get up or leave. Bruce and Dick both exhale slowly.

“We know him. He is part of the family.”

Dick made d face behind Bruce, some mix of complicated emotions, but droped it after a moment, bouncing in place once more. The shop-owner has to take pity on them, not alone because the younger man looked ready to run around the flower-shop and look under every table and every bucket in hopes to find the couch by himself.

“Come one. Upstairs.”

He gave a brief nod in the direction of the backroom and then lead both men through the room behind the counter and up the flight of stairs. The door to his apartment was never closed when he was downstairs, so the couch and its occupant are visible once they are upstairs.

The moment Dick spoted the young man currently spread out on the comfortable cushions, he squeezed past Clark and burst into the room.

“Jason!”

Dick made for the couch while Bruce stoped in the doorway.

The hurt man scrambled to get up but froze in a sitting position when his and Bruce's eyes locked. Both men stare at each other with intense eyes, a whole conversation going on without words. Jason narrowed his eyes, while some hard-to-name expression was pulling on Bruce's lips.

It was hard not to pry, especially when the air was so loaded, that it seems to send a little spark of electricity along Clark's arm. He hadn't really expected Bruce to give in first, but the billionaire relaxed after a moment and smiled a bit.

“I'm glad you are okay, Jason.”

The younger man huffed and sank back into the pillow, all fight gone. He looked exhausted and pale, grumbling to himself. Dick laughed softly and sat down on the edge of the couch, Jason shifting his body automatically to give him more space. Bruce was already walking back down the stairs and Clark turns to do the same, only catching from the corner of his eye how Dick's finger settle in the crack of Jason's neck, making the other man relax. He could hear the soft murmur of “What happened?” and “Who was that fucking imposer?”, before he turned his super-senses away from the conversation, way too polite to listen in.

The way downstairs was quiet and somewhat tense, a feeling that seems to spread in the main-room, expending with the open space. Bruce looked tense, shoulders stiff, aristocratic brows drawn together in thought. 

Clark cleared his troth, going for “Do you want a coffee?”, the same moment the Bruce said “Thanks for helping out Jason.”

Both stare at each other, then Clark had to laugh, felt the corners of his eyes crinkle and his cheeks heat. He wasn't twelve, but this felt awkwardly like his first crush. And the way the black haired Billionaire was smiling, subtle and private – not a little bit the blinding media-darling-smile like on all the magazine-covers – was not helping to calm his feelings at all.

“Of course. Everyone would have done it.”

, Clark gives as an answer.

Amusement shone in Bruce's eyes when he did shake his head. “And that's where I am reminded that you are not from Gotham. That close to Crime Ally, people know not to leave their houses at night. Especially not when gunshots and vigilantes are involved.”

Clark can't smother a huff.

“Surely the people of Gotham are not that bad. Someone would have helped.”

“They are far from bad.” Bruce's blue eyes turned to steel for a moment, mouth set in a defensive line, till he seemed to catch himself, recognizing that Clark hadn't ment anything offensive by his words. He was just curious and a believer in the good.

“They are afraid. Gotham is... She is as dangerous as she is beautiful. People of Gotham love their city, but they know life can be hard and that it sometimes might be better to stay to yourself. That does not make them bad people, Clark.”

The earnest man standing before him couldn't be farer from the flirting Playboy that had walked into his shop days ago. The change was subtle but enormous all at once, his posture more controlled, his face set to hard lines and angels – only giving out emotions and smiles as rare rewards. It was astonishing. And even if it might take some getting used to, Clark was sure that getting to see that side of Bruce was because of the trust he earned with helping one of the people really dear to “the Prince of Gotham”.

“I'm sure it is different than living in Metropolis. But you should give the people a bit more credits.” He voiced his opinion with a soft smile, to not upset the other man again and Bruce seemed to get that, only noded. They did fall into companionable silence then till Dick showed up again, seeming much calmer then when they arrived.

“Jason says thanks and wants to hog your couch for a few more hours, he seemed pretty sleepy. Painkillers probably.”

Clark could pick up on the slowing heartbeat upstairs. Jason was already falling asleep again. That's what getting shot does to a guy. Not that Clark would know.

“I don't mind. But I'm surprised you don't want to take him home?”

“He wouldn't be too happy about that.” Bruce crossed his arms with a frown. “But he can come to the manor any time. Alfred would be happy to dot on him.”

The words put a little smile on Dick's lips and he did press his shoulder to Bruce's for a moment in some familiar gesture that might pass for a non-hug.

“Thanks, Clark!”, the younger man twittered in a ridiculousy high voice and a laugh, sending him a warm smile and a wave, before steping out of the shop, while a customer did come in. The arrival of the well-dressed woman – that had a spark of recognition in her eyes the moment she looked at the billionaire - made Bruce close his mouth, keeping whatever he would have said to himself. The Billionaire steped closer instead, putting his hand high on his arm, squeezing his biceps. The sudden smile on his lips was so flirty, Clark could only gap at him.

“Thank you, Clark.”, he purred with a wink, then turned on his heels and to walk out of the shop, leaving it's owner with a face redder than a flame and a customer with her jaw on the floor.

 _By Rao..._ In how many layers did that man hide?

-  
-

“That is a real surprise, Superman. Or it would be, wouldn't I have known you would be here.”

Lois looked stunning in her gold and green gala-dress, showing off one delicate shoulder between the long, soft fabric. She held the little bouquet of gladiolas with her purse, the flowers a perfect contrast to her outfit.

Clark had to rain in his warm smile, only allowing it to show in his eyes, while he gave her a nod. Superman and Lois Lane know each other, of course, but on a strictly work-related basis.

“Miss Lane.”

Seeing her in the sea of unknown faces was a relief and he wished he could hug her, at least for a moment. If Lois' soft look was anything to go by, it might show on his face. He never was too fond of attending high-society events, neither as Clark Kent or as Superman. But when Blüdhavens Mayor had asked him to help out to raise money for finishing the orphanage, Superman was never one to decline.

“So _”Donate to win a Date with Superman”_ really?”

The hero did flush a but.

“It wasn't my idea. But the mayor said that people were really interested, so... A small favor to get the orphanage all the money they need.”

“What a shining, selfless Hero~”

The melodic voice drifting over his shoulder made Clark tense for a moment. He had to take a slow breath to collect himself before he was turning to Bruce Wayne. The Playboy was wearing a beautiful gray suit today, fitted to perfection, one of the vibrant blue Gladiolas stuck to his lapel. He did look way more put together than on most functions he appears at, mostly because Lois wasn't one for a quick snog in the broom-closet.

Said woman looped her arm througt Bruce's, one eyebrow raising.

“Is that sarcasm in your voice, Mr. Wayne? I don't think people want to read about such a reaction in the Daily Planet tomorrow.”

Wayne's face looked beautifully confused. Clark did only see the calculating look in his eyes because he did knew what to look for.

“But Miss. Lane. You should know that I am a big fan of fund-raising. And whoever can pull it off in skin-hugging thighs has all my respect.”

While blue eyes wander approvingly over his legs, Clark had to resist to draw his cape around himself. There is way too much oggling going on in that conversation for him to feel comfortable.

His stiff “Thank you.”, did draw a laugh from the black-haired Playboy and a pitying look from Lois, but to Clark's relief, the Mayor was shosing that moment to call him over to start the auction. All he had to do was stand on the stage and wait, then give the highest bidder the rest of his time for this evening. There were worse things he could be doing tonight.

-  
-

There weren't worse things he could be doing tonight.

The blood was rushing in Clark's ears, blocking out all words and noises around him. He totally missed how high the summ is Bruce Wayne just called. People all around them have their jaws on the floor, so it must be a ridiculously amount of money. But he was to distracted by the bright smile and the fierce blue eyes trained on him. Wayne waved his way through the other guests, never looking away, already sure no one would offer more money.

While the curator fumbled to close the deal. Clark got a really close look at Gotham's Prince. Bruce Wayne seemed to have no concept of personal space, stopping toe to toe and putting his hand on Superman's chest, like it was a totally reasonable thing to do. That the billionaire had to look up, even without the hero floating was kind of a grounding satisfaction, that helped Clark to get his senses together.

“Mr. Wayne.”

A blinding smile. “Superman. What a pleasure to meet you. I'm such a fan of your look.”

It was sounding mildly like an insult to his costume again, but Clark did know he might just overact. The whole thing had him way out of his dept. He had suspected to end up with some snobby starlet or a to rich middle-aged woman for this fund-rise-gig, not with a spoiled Playboy.

“You should swipe your cape for Satin. The shine would make you look even more outstanding. What kind of material is that?”

While Clark had zoned out into self-pity, Wayne had grabbed a handful of his cape, examining it closely, running the fabric between his long, delicate fingers. His down-turned face was hard to read, but Clark does not miss the sharp and calculation look in his ice-blue eyes.

“The material is not from earth, M.r Wayne.”

It was not easy to get his cape back without being rude because his companion had a surprisingly strong grip. Clark had to take Wayne's hand and detangle his fingers himself. He just hoped he wasn't blushing, because the motion felt strangely intimate. The billionaire seemed to be unfazed by the contact, now starting to pick at Clark's sleeve.

“I wonder where you got it. I would bet Wayne Enterprise could do something outstanding with material like this. Lucius always tells me he would kill to get his hands on your uniform. Mind striping out of it?”

“ _What??_

Now Clark was sure his face must be burning. Wayne looked up and winked at him, playful and promising, only serving to spread the flush further down Clark's neck.

The Playboy did laugh.

“No? What a shame. I might have other ideas to get you out of that costume, Superman. If you are interested.”

The way the Gothamite was masking his fierce interest with sudden flirting and leering made Clark's hackles rise in anger.

“I'm afraid we have to cut our meeting short, Mr. Wayne. I offered my time to bring money in for funding the finishing of the Blüdhaven-Orphanage, not to be your personal plaything. I'm sure you can find yourself willing candidates to waste your evening and your money on, so if you-”

A hard look crossed Bruce Wayne's handsome face, deepening the shadows for a fraction of a second. It's might be to subtle for everyone else in the room that was looking in their direction, but up close the cold intend did hit like a sledgehammer, making Superman forget what he had planned to say next. Something to insulting for his good manners that he would have to regrade the rest of the week, maybe.

“Let's go.”

The dump smile securely back in place on the playboy's beautiful face, not quite reaching his impressive eyes, Wayne did wind his arm through his and Clark let himself get dragged along. Starting a fight in front of all the guests and the press would have been a stupid move. Wayne smileed at every camera, stoping a few time to share some pleasantries with other wealthy people, all envious to different degrees. Clark could only nod along, trying to stay calm, while the man beside him got tenser the more they near the entrance. His fingers dug into Clark's arm – without his attributes as a meta-human, his skin would already start to bruise.

The building finally spilled them into the cold Blüdhaven night, air damp and salty on the tongue with every inhale.

“Mr. Wayne...”

“Get into the car. There still cameras around.” 

The young man did sound incredibly pissed, even while his voice was staying calm. Nearly dangerously so. A sleek black limousine stoped in front of them, the driver stepping out to open the back-door. Clark recognized Alfred and gave a friendly nod, that could be written off as Superman just being polite. Then he was sliding into the car alongside Bruce.

The car barely started moving when the Playboy rounded on him.

“I know my repetition, but buying sexual favors just because I have the money - is not part of it! So that's all _your_ opinion. What is your problem with me, Superman?”

Wayne was really angry about what he said at the party, Clark did realize. He doesn't get it. He had read way more insulting declaration about Gotham's most wanted bachelor in magazines, even witnessed people saying some of that shit to Wayne's face, while he happened to be around on a reporter gig.

“I don't have a problem. You were clearly implying -”

“That's called flirting. Normal people that don't run around in skin tight pajamas all night tend to do that. It was totally harmless.”

It was childish, but Clark had to cross his arms in defense, chest puffing up.

“It was an insult.”

“It was flirting. What are you, some Wallflower that did grow up on a farm?”

He doesn't react on that, because it hits way to close to home. Wayne huffed and slumped back into his seat, fist flexing. It was easy to see where Jason picked up his temper, blood-related or not.

“Whatever. Think what you want, but keep your opinion to yourself in a room full of people. Unsupervised Prostitution is a real problem in Gotham, putting the women on the streets to risk because their clients don't treat them with respect. I'm trying to work against that, to get Wayne Enterprise to make the Streets saver for the workers. The last thing the campaign needs is some headline of Superman accusing me of buying people for sex.”

Clark blinked. That was...

“I didn't know that.”

“Of course you didn't.” A cutting look from icy eyes. “Not everyone gets to be the shiny hero of a jewel like Metropolis. All lovely and peaceful – must be nice.”

Wayne yanked his tie from his neck, calmer now but clearly still on edge.

“As I said, I know my reputation, and I do enjoy what fun and privileges come with being wealthy. I am also aware that people are right to accuse me of never having to work one day in my life. But I would give up everything if it could take back what got the money in my possession in the first place.”

The shady lights of Blüdhavens streets filter through the windows, zipping by and casting Bruce's face in strange shadows. He looked older. Like there was a completely different person sitting beside him in the car. His eyes were distant and there was a crushing sadness pulling at his lips. All what was left of his anger did leave Clark in a slight shudder. He had been raised better than to draw conclusions that fast. His Ma would be so disappointed.

“I'm sorry about what I accused you of, Mr. Wayne.”

Wayne hummed without casting a glance in his direction

“Gotham has her problems and she has her bat-shaped-lunatics, but I love her and I will do what I can to make her a better place for her people. If you can't see beyond what the press says about my life, stay away from me, and stay away from my city.”

The stopping of the car did cut Clark's chance to give an honest replay because Bruce Wayne hauled himself out the second they came to a halt.

“Alfred would drive you, but I'm sure you don't need a ride.”, is all he said, before he slamed the door in Clark's face. The Billionaire has already escaped into the Hotel they pulled up front, not looking back once when Superman finally emerged from the black Limousine. The urge to run after Bruce and explain himself was so strong he would have acted on it, wouldn't Alfred have chosen the moment to step in his path.

“It is not my place to give my opinion, but I would advice to leave Master Bruce alone for now.”

The Butlers smile was reserved but kind.

“But – He did spend a lot of money for some time with me.”

“It was never about you, but about the orphaned children that depend on this money. That is what you need to understand about Master Bruce. Good night, Superman.”

That's how Clark found himself standing in front of Blüdhavens most exclusive hotel, brushed off by both Bruce Wayne _and_ his butler while feeling at an absolute loss of words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride. It's still a surprise how much I love writing Bruce in his Playboy persona. I hope it didn't run away with me.  
>  **Spoiler alert!** Tim should have appeared in this chapter, but it did grow and grow... so I decided to save that part for the next one! Kudos and comments are well appreciated! If you want to fangirl about Superbat drop by at my [Tumblr](http://klayr-de-gall.tumblr.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> Well... That got a bit away from me. I love ernest Batman, but I had a lot of fun writing Bruce like that. The Fic will stay in Clark's POV, but with a lot more appearances of the Bat-family. I promise!  
> Let me know what you think so far! I'm always happy to hear some ideas!


End file.
